The Reaper's Tale
by OnyxAngel3
Summary: An accompanying piece to my Apocalypse fic. Jaez' decides to tell the world what it was like to grow up as "Reaper". As time passes she realizes that there is more to life than just death and misery and that family can be the greatest reason to live.
1. Dreadful Commencement

Disclaimer: Tekken characters belong to Namco…everyone else is MINE! ^_^

The Reaper's Tale:

Dreadful Commencement

You want to know more about me right? Do you really want to know?

Haha…I know…I sound like Peter Parker from the Spiderman movie…but there's really no other way to put it any more plainly.

You are here to hear the tale of the Reaper. The one who lost everything before she even had it to begin with. The one who was condemned to a life of dark secrets and an even darker truth.

Where to start…Where to start? At the beginning I suppose. The beginning of a life of misery, strife, failure, guilt and redemption.

Redemption? Hmm…maybe not that…at least not yet…

I know that it all began with the fact that I was born…rather…weak. Second born, second best. I've heard that somewhere. Although that particular statement does not ring true now, at one point it did. Like I said…I was born weak. So weak that the doctors thought that I would not survive the night. They took it upon themselves to save my mother the heartache of knowing that I was living, or rather struggling to live, only so that I could die. So, they went ahead… and they told her that I had died. Only a few minutes after birth. She was devastated. To have lost my father long before my brother and I were born and then to have lost… me. I know I will never be able to comprehend the pain or the suffering she had to endure, but I can do no more than to hope that the pain eased as the years passed since I can no longer hope to see her face to face.

Face to face. Hm…I suppose I kind of do that whenever I look in the mirror. Hehe…I was shocked the first time I peered at a photograph of her. I could have sworn I was looking at a photo of myself…only…made to look older by those age-enhancing machines. We had the same…everything. Well, almost. There were those subtle differences that I could only discern after having stared for hours at the photo and then myself, in the mirror. Only after looking over every miniscule detail, could I say that I knew how we were different. I will name only a few. Our faces are different in their shape. That is really the biggest way to tell myself apart from her. Hers was rounder than mine. My face is thinner, slightly more oval looking than hers. And my eyes. Although they are the same chocolate brown, mine are…not quite as round as hers. They're a thinner almond shape. All in all, my appearance is more…sleek…than hers. At first sight though…you could not tell us apart. I doubt either Jin or Kazuya could…not at first sight anyway

…later…well, I'm sure they could…

But enough of my appearance. That's not what you came here to know about.

My life. Now _that_ is what intrigues you. But I will tell you now, that my life is a dark one. Hardly a life at all. Death…It's more a tale about Death…The reason they call me Reaper.

Life. What those doctors thought I would surely lose. But it seems that even then, Death thought me a friend. He refused to take what little life I had. He lingered around, no doubt, wondering if he should take pity on me and end my struggle. I guess he saw something in me that did not deserved to be taken away. Perhaps he saw what I could do, even before I did. It's possible don't you think? Death is a lonely figure. Wandering the lands, ending the continuation of life. He can do no more. It is what he is meant to do. There can only be life, if there is death.

Perhaps he saw in me a sort of companion. I could be at his side, and understand his…existence…for I had been blessed…or rather, cursed…with the same gift. Can it really be called that? A Gift? To be able to end the God-given _gift_ of life? No. It is not a gift. But to be honest I don't know what else to call it. So suppose for now "gift" will explain my…ability…

Ahh…I am wandering from the story, the tale, aren't I? You must forgive my shortcomings. I tend to drift sometimes…my mind likes to ponder thoughts that I would be better off not pondering.

Back to my tale then…_my _tale…

After a those idiotic doctors saw that I was not about to die, that I had cheated death, they were presented with one hell of a conundrum…hehe…conundrum…what a curious word… ah…but there I go again…maybe I should say…problem… Yes. Problem. And one hell of a problem it was. They had told my mother I was dead. And I wasn't. Instead of succumbing to the cold world of the damned and deceased, I gained strength. Shock. Could it have been anything else to them? Clearly I was going to pull through, but they could not give me back to my mother. No doubt she would raise charges against the hospital…the doctors…

They were not going to risk their hard earned career by giving me back. Instead they took me to the nearest orphanage. Suddenly, I was just an abandoned baby, left at the steps of the hospital by a stranger who did not care about me. With that 'story' they left me. I was taken away from the life I could have had with my mother and my twin.

There my life of despair truly began.

It was not long before someone found interest in me. I had no parents…no family…no… papers. There was no way that I could be tracked back to my mother. I'm practically a dumpster-baby, remember? I was perfect. Only a few months old but, according to the nuns that ran that orphanage, surprisingly docile. I proved to be one of the most adoptable infants.

Of course I was not fussy. I was rarely left alone. While the nuns tended to me during the day, Death tended to me during the night. Our little friendship began to grow much more strongly. Adorable. Doesn't it seem that way? …No? Perhaps you would say…morbid…disgusting…horrifying. I suppose they're all true. It just depends on your views of life…and death. It all comes back to that doesn't it?

Like I was saying…someone found interest in me. No, it was not some loving couple who since they could not have children of their own wanted to better the life of an orphan.

No.

They were so much worse.

They were recruiters.

They posed as a couple. But they were not. I was said to be the best of the bunch, and so I was picked. And instead of being taken to loving home, I was taken to a prison. It may not have been an actual prison, but little differentiated it from one. I suppose it more closely resembled a mental facility, in the sense that the rooms were padded with large white squares of foam to prevent us from trying to injure ourselves when we got older.

We.

I say "we" because I was not the only one. Numerous orphans had been taken from countless orphanages around the country. We were all taken because we were both untraceable and un-troublesome.

The first few years were just to condition us. We had to learn the basics.

The basics of what, you ask? Well, let me tell you.

The basics of assassination.

We had to learn to feel no pity, no remorse, no compassion. We could not be weak-stomached. We had to be strong. Emotions meant death.

That is what we learned.

Ruthless, cold, merciless. This is what we had to be. We were assassins…the best…even as children…we were the best.

Emotions meant death. Curious statement don't you think? Emotions meant death…Huh…

That phrase was supposed to remind us of the reason we killed. It was the motto we all lived by day by day…and kill by kill. It was the REASON. Those who had emotions sought us out to bring about death. Also, it was ingrained into our minds that if we felt emotion we would come face-to-face with Death. He would find us and reach out to us so that he could pull us into his cold embrace. And Death never let anyone go. (As far as I know…I've been the only exception. But there have been miracles you say? Well, the only reason those miracles occurred were because Death was not around. Sure…people have had horrible accidents and survived…but that is only because Death was busy somewhere else…he didn't have the time to go end their life)

He Never, Let Anyone Go. At least that is what they said. I guess the only reason I have emotions…why I feel sad, depressed, guilty…is because I know Death. How ironic. He's my friend remember? My best friend, actually. The only one who has never left me. The only one who is always there for me when I need him. No human has ever been like that for me. Ever.

Despite having emotions…I was still the best of the best. I could pin down opponents faster than they could step forward to attack me. It runs in my blood…that fire that rages through the veins, that thirst to fight…so I guess it makes sense.

I attribute the discovery of my "gift" to the hard-pressured training. The rigor, the discipline, the cruelty of our "teachers." I did not like to be told what to do. I know I said I was docile. But that was me as an infant. As a young girl…I learned that I did not like to be… bossed around. I was not a puppet but apparently _they _thought I was. _They _tied strings to my arms, my legs, my mind, and my heart. _They _were the puppeteers. _They_ told me what to do, what _not _to do, who to kill, who _not _to kill. Or so they thought…

I. Did. Not. Like. It.

What they didn't know…was that this little puppet had a pair of scissors.

So one day, I retaliated. I cut those accursed strings.

The "instructor" was not pleased with the way I had taken down my opponent. The opponent was another one of the child-assassins. He said that I had taken him down too quickly. That I hadn't fully appreciated the "kill."

Appreciate. Appreciate The Kill?

I was sick of him. I was sick of his voice, of his methods, of his views on the world, of his black, emotionless eyes. Everything about him disgusted me. I was sick of it ALL.

Fury boiled in my blood. My heart began to pound so hard I could have sworn that my ribcage would shatter and that the splintered bone would dig back into my heart, skewering it through a thousand times. Heat began to course through my entire frame. Not that I had a very large one. Still, I'm pretty sure he could feel the fury. My aura must have looked like the sun had lent me its strength and its burning passion. I looked into his black eyes and stared. At the time, I had thought he had been taken aback by the rage in my brown eyes. Later I would realize that he had witnessed my eyes change colors, shifting from brown to gold.

To be honest I don't know _how_ I did it, but I killed him. I put my hand to his heart and let my wrath do the rest. He was on the ground, dead, before he could even slap my hand away.

There, in the middle of that barren room, with the wide eyes of the other children looking at me in amazement, I realized that I had killed him by merely touching him. I could feel Death's cold hand on my shoulder as he admired my work. It was as if he was telling me that he couldn't have done it better himself.

How sweet…

_____________________________________________________________________

A/n: So. What do you think so far?

A horrible way to start life isn't it?

I suppose Jaez is my "tragic-heroine"

Want more? Let me know…


	2. Power

Power

What is power?

Is it authority, control, influence, supremacy, strength, dominance? None of these? All of these?

Power. That is what I gained after that day. Respect. True Respect. I gained that too. Although if we are to be frank with each other…it was more fear than anything else.

My fellow child-assassins were scared. There was no doubt about that. But we were not supposed to know fear and so they hid their new emotions as best they could from our superiors.

Ah…our superiors. Now, _they _were not scared. At least not outright. They were …overjoyed. I was gifted! Not one of them cared how or why but they knew that they had found me for a reason!

A reason.

Suddenly I was the "twenty-first century killing machine."

Talk about coincidence.

I could kill with a single touch and here I was, by mere luck, part of an assassination organization that employed children. I became the go-to girl for all of the tricky jobs.

They needed someone killed, but it had to be untraceable, unnoticeable, it had to look _natural_.

Natural. Those deaths were everything but.

I remember every person that fell before my hand.

I remember how they stood in shock as they entered their bedroom to find me sitting either on their bed or in their chair. I remember their questions…their clueless questions. _Who are you? What are you doing here? How did you get in?_ Almost every single time, the questions were the same. Could people be any less creative? I think they watched too many movies…too much TV.

Either way, they stared as I simply sat there without saying a word. My eyes were blank as I looked into theirs. Just another job, I thought. It's just another job. Their shock, their confusion soon became annoyance…anger. _Get out! _They said. _Get out!_

_Oh. Don't worry. I will. But first I have to do something. _

_What? _They questioned. Of course I answered with the truth: _Kill you._

And with those words I stood up, walked to my mark, and again met their eyes. Their looks were always that of incredulity. Some even had the nerve to laugh. Laugh…can you believe it? Those were the ones I killed slowly. I was _**not **_a fool. I was _**not **_something to be laughed at. I would make them see that.

And so the years passed. My fame amongst the assassins of the world grew. I was practically a celebrity. And here I thought that the underworld of murderers was supposed to be secretive and obscure. Please.

I thought that I had cut the strings….but apparently there were strings that I did not know about…

I began to intensely dislike that "fame." I did not want it. I did not want this life. On my common excursions into the big cities around the world, I saw everything that I did not have. Everything that I wanted and couldn't have. Not while I worked as an assassin.

I saw other children. My age.

They had a mom, they had a dad, most of them had a brother and/or a sister. Some of them even had more than one mom; more than one dad; numerous siblings. It saddened me.

Why had I been abandoned? That was the story for all of us. We had ALL been abandoned. Our parents didn't want us. Why? Why? You have no idea how many times I asked myself that question. Why? If my parents had known what had happened to me, would they be disgusted? Would they wish they had taken up the responsibilities they had thrown aside so recklessly? Would they wish even more that I had never come into existence?

Unanswered questions. That is all that they ever were.

Reaper. How affectionately they called me that. That is what I was. I was the Grim Reaper in the flesh. I was the taker of souls, the absolver of life.

Rumors began. There was no way I could be human. Was I some sort of demonic reincarnation? Was that the reason I had been "abandoned?" Had my parents seen what I could do? Had they themselves been victims of my dark powers?

Questions. That is all they ever were.

But isn't that what we can't seem to avoid in life: questions?

In any case, those questions drove me almost to the brink of insanity. I hid my true face from everyone. I rarely let anyone in.

Finally there came a point at which I knew that I wanted more out of life than just…death. My dismal existence was…suffocating me. I didn't want to **not **feel anything. I had heard and seen so much. And I wanted a taste of it all. I wanted to feel boredom, anxiety, elation, love.

Love. I wondered so much what that was like. It was an emotion that I had seen so many times in so many parks, in so many streets, in so many people. But no matter how hard I studied the way they looked and spoke…I knew I would never comprehend it. Not until Death and I took a little break from each other.

I know…I know…I said that he was always there for me. And that _is _the truth. He has… and still is. To this day, I know I can count on him to keep me company.

Especially after the accident.

The accident was the one time I had begged Death to leave me. I had not realized that by sending Death away I could fall victim to the world of jealousy and desperation that the humans lived in.

But before I can tell you about the accident, I have to tell you of how I sought a new life.

January seventeenth. I had just turned twelve. Exactly five minutes ago at 3: 17 a.m. I had turned twelve. It was the day I got to wondering as to _how_ my superiors knew what time I had been born at. I was abandoned, right? Little details like that should not be known…

It was also the day I escaped.

No one could tell me what to do anymore. I was my own…. woman. No one could stop me. They wouldn't try…fear, remember?

I left. I scaled the towering walls of the compound and left. At the airport I bought a random ticket and boarded a random plane. Random. I didn't care where I went, I just wanted to leave.

Where was I going, specifically, you ask?

Well…it turns out I was headed to South Korea.

…Seoul, South Korea…

________________________________________________________________________

A/n: I hope the stream-of-consciousness POV is not too hard to follow.

Do me a favor and review??…. pretty please with a cherry on top? XD THNX


End file.
